


Caught in the Past

by delightfulmania



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Background Bucky/Steve, Bipolar Disorder, Bipolar Tony Stark, Enemies to Friends, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Illness, One Shot, Panic Attack, Short One Shot, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark Friendship, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Trauma, anxiety attack, kind of, steve rogers is trying to be comforting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 07:27:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16081343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delightfulmania/pseuds/delightfulmania
Summary: Tony is still hurting, even though the team is back together. Sometimes his anxiety gets the best of him, and thats where Steve finds him.





	Caught in the Past

**Author's Note:**

> This is a big ol mess, not exactly shippy just me writing things to comfort myself after watching civil war, hope you enjoy! be warned it's all about mental illness so be careful if you're sensitive to that! Stay safe <3

Tony was panicking.

It wasn’t out of the ordinary, to be fair, his panic attacks came and went quite frequently. Sometimes it was once a month, sometimes every day. Right now, however, he didn’t care about that. What he cared about was that everything stopped being so bright, stopped being so loud, and maybe, maybe his brain would stop screaming.

For a while, it didn’t. It wasn’t like he had a reasonable reason for panicking. A picture of the captain america shield shouldn’t have been enough to push him into the anxiety ridden state he was currently in, but now all he could feel was the shield pressing into his chest, the pain he felt as he lay there in pain, feeling left for dead.

He didn’t blame Steve, if he was completely honest there was still guilt in him for how he reacted. He blamed himself for everything that had happened then, how the avengers had fallen apart. These thoughts tore through him like a bullet, the ache for his friends that, for a period, had become so familiar making its way back into his chest. They had reunited a few months ago, but he still felt bad.

He felt bad when he couldn’t help but see the way they looked at him, the pain that still sat in each of their conversations. Things were getting better, a few of them had even moved back into the compound, and that thought brought him comfort, mending the bullet hole of pain.

Yet still, he couldn’t breathe as he sat curled up under the blankets in his room, hyperventilating, his eyes squeezed shut. He clutched at the scar on his chest where the shield had punctured his skin, feeling the curved line through his t-shirt. Usually he wore long sleeve shirts, to hide the scars from just after siberia. When he had been so low, not even Pepper and Rhodey’s best efforts could get him out of it. That was when he had started antidepressants, because even though his father had engrained it in his brain that mental illness was fake, and for weak people, he wanted to be better. 

That had only caused another issue, the highs. Suddenly he was going from rock bottom to high as a kite within days. One week he was low, his arms bloodied and his brain dark, a cloud of fog surrounding him, the next he felt as if he could take on the world. There were weeks where he didn’t sleep more than a few hours, spent all his time in the workshop, ran on coffee and the racing of his brain.

Those times, although feeling much better in the moment than depressive episodes, reared ugly consequences from impulsive actions. It didn’t take long for his psychiatrist to realize he needed different meds, and soon he was stable again. He still went low occasionally, but it was so much better now.

The anxiety, however, seemed to always stay. 

He was still clutching at his chest when the knock at his door came, and he heard it swing in. A pause, and then a voice that he knew belonged to one person.

“Tony?” It was said cautiously, as the older man eyed the shaking lump under the blankets.

“Hi” Came an unsteady voice, from under the covers, and he began to slowly emerge, still vibrating with anxiety.

“Are you.. Are you okay?”

“Yes, never been better, what’s up Steve?” He had now fully emerged from the sheets, sheepish and embarrassed as the distraction helped him leave his anxiety attack behind. It was when he had fully emerged that Steve’s eyes went to his scarred arms, and Tony quickly hid them under the covers again, his calming breathing picking up again.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it, what do you need?” He spoke quickly, eager to leave this interaction behind and never speak of it ever again. As Steve stepped closer he forgot the hiding, and his hand quickly went to the scar from the shield again, before Tony even realized.

“It obviously isn’t nothing, Tony. I want to know what's going on.” Steve became defensive, as he saw the spot his hand went to, and guilt rushed through him. He couldn’t afford to have his teammates keep not telling him things, they had to be a team again.

“Listen, Steve, I have it handled. I’m as good as ever, and you don’t need to know okay? You didn’t care before, you shouldn’t now.” As much as Tony wanted to announce to him all of the suffering he had gone through, all of the pain, he didn’t want to fight. Incidentally that was exactly what he almost started.

Steve almost snapped, almost turned to the anger he felt, partially at himself for not recognizing that Tony would have gone through hell after Siberia, even if he had been in the wrong. He let himself recalibrate though, let the anger pass. He begun from what he knew.

“Listen, I- I know I don’t have any right to know what’s happening with you, but I want to help. I know more about this stuff now because of Bucky. He has those same scars, and I just… want to help. You don’t have to hide from us Tony, we all have issues, II know New York was pretty bad for you, and god I can’t imagine how bad it must have been after Siberia. I’m so sorry Tony.”

Tony looked up, the marks of his anxiety fuelled tears dry on his cheeks, and looked at the man who seemed so uncomfortable, so scared of the mess he felt he had made, and he opened up.

“They’re… they’re from the lows. Sometimes I go really low. Sometimes I’m way too high. A lot of the time I just… end up curled up full of panic. It’s kinda been a thing always, but especially after…” He paused, looking down again. “After what happened. I felt so bad for tearing us apart and I don’t want to ruin the new chance we have with all of-” He gestured to his head, “this.”

Steve sat down beside Tony on the bed, and although he noticed him flinch away ever so slightly as he sat down, he ignored it and the pang it sent through his chest. 

“It’s gonna be okay, Tones. I still really have no idea about this, all I know is from Bucky because he… he struggles a lot too. I’m trying, though, and I hope you know that I want to be better and I’m so sorry for everything that has happened in the past year. I hope maybe you’ll forgive me?” Steve spoke softly, looking at his hands mostly.

“Yeah, thank you Steve. I’m sorry too.” Tony leaned towards the taller man, shoulders resting together as a sign of acceptance, even though being this close to the other still caused his heart to beat faster, he was working on it. “Wait, why did you come in here anyways?” He looked up, a hint of a smile on his face.

“Oh! Right, we got food! I almost forgot. Let’s go eat, huh?” Steve laughed, standing up. Tony followed, heart feeling much more full and warm than a few moments ago.

“Yeah, let’s do that.”


End file.
